<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>treehouse by freshtrash</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28912380">treehouse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshtrash/pseuds/freshtrash'>freshtrash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HLVRAI - Fandom, freeman's mind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst I guess, Character Study (?), Gen, Not Beta Read, all - Freeform, check notes for cw, it's literally all symbolic, they're just all in pain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:41:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28912380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshtrash/pseuds/freshtrash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the wind ruffled his hair as he walked along the street. it was cold. he didn't care. mind was used to it. the screeching of cars, roar and whisper of the crowd. mind was on the other side, kicking empty bottles. did it make him feel better? did it make him feel worse? </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>just pure angsty symbolism with freemind. nothing is literal. freemind angst hours.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>freemind/tommy/forzen (implied)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have a fic i haven't updated in literal months and I didn't wanna post this too, but I figured I should post something at least<br/>so take me smacking freemind with angst<br/>I might add to this with my other freemind angst later HDHSHD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the wind ruffled his hair as he walked along the street. it was cold. he didn't care. mind was used to it. the screeching of cars, roar and whisper of the crowd. mind was on the other side, kicking empty bottles. did it make him feel better? did it make him feel worse? <br/>shadows of skyscrapers loomed over his side of the road, sinking everything in darkness. the streetlights were out. funny.</p>
<p>mind was shaking. paralyzing cold. he looked over to the other side, lights blinding him. did he wish to be there? did he wish to step into the light?<br/>mind took another step along the shadows. darkness became comfort. his eyes hurt when he looked at the light. so why not just stay?</p>
<p>how long will it take to reach something? walking through the darkness, kicking bottles. how long will it take to stop? faint laughter reaching his ears from the other side. he doesn't flinch.</p>
<p>should he scream? should he shout to the other side? will someone hear him? <br/>he likes screaming. screaming until his lungs burn. they burn anyway, smoke ash piling at the bottom. people feel like cardboard cutouts, but how can he judge when he's made of stone. or at least he wishes he was. </p>
<p>
  <em>do not enters written on the doorway</em>
</p>
<p>his phone rings. the screen lights the street, feeling warm. tommy. <br/>mind turns the phone off. he reaches, but he flinches away. and then he reaches again.<br/>the cycle of being unknowable. does it make him better? does it make him worse?<br/>it makes him cold.<br/>mind just kicks another bottle.</p>
<p>will anyone see him shake? will anyone care if he stops?<br/>the snow crunches beneath his feet. <br/>tommy is the sun. that blinding light. it feels warm, but it feels scalding. it dances on the edge of heavenly and torturous. mind doesn't dance.</p>
<p>he closes his eyes and picks up the phone. his mouth speaks before he does and it doesn't matter. he sees himself on the other side, laughing and talking to tommy through the phone. if he looks closer, it's just a prerecorded message. a cutout.<br/>he made it himself. took some scissors and cut it out of his flesh and bone. mind thinks he pulls the strings, but his hands raise in sync with the cutout. does it matter? <br/>he hangs up and takes another step. </p>
<p>the street ends. </p>
<p>there's a wall, dull and covered in cracks, and a single bench. </p>
<p>he sees forzen sit there, eyes empty. does he sit next to him? does he turn around?<br/>mind extends his hand to forzen, silently, wordlessly. he doesn't know if he wants forzen to get up or pull him in.</p>
<p>
  <em>I'm the captain, but you can be the deputy</em>
</p>
<p>forzen looks at the hand, eyes deep and shallow. mind looks too. he doesn't see forzen on the other side. <br/>forzen's hand is cold. but it feels like hot iron against mind's. he feels his blood pump faster as mind pulls forzen up. the snow crunches under their boots as forzen stumbles into mind's arms. <br/>does it feel boiling? mind thinks to himself:</p>
<p>"yes."</p>
<p>everything hurts. something so good shouldn't feel so bad. mind's skin is fire and forzen is ice. it burns. but he digs his hands into forzen more and more. <br/>starved people eat until their stomach malfunctions. starved people eat until they die. <br/>bite off more than they can chew. more than their organs can handle.<br/>how long will it take until mind feels himself shut down? too much, too fast.<br/>who cares.</p>
<p>forzen isn't the light. but the shadows back off anyway.<br/>mind takes his hands and swirls him. forzen laughs and dips him, bringing him back up.<br/>mind doesn't dance.<br/>they sway together to the screeching of cars, roar and whisper of the crowd. to mind's phone ringing. to empty bottles being kicked.</p>
<p>will anyone come for them? will anyone reach their hand out across the road?</p>
<p>mind doesn't know. he only knows forzen's rough touch and the comfort of the darkness. and, god, it hurt. but it enveloped him like a thick blanket, muffling the other side. does he want it? does he need it? does it matter? mind doesn't say a word. neither does forzen. <br/>forzen dips him one last time.</p>
<p>will the shadows swallow them whole? will their fingers stay twined? will they ever make it to the other side?<br/>he kisses forzen's knuckles and tastes poison.<br/>will his questions be answered? were they ever his?<br/>it doesn't matter.</p>
<p>the show crunches and the crowd roars and the cars screech and mind's heart beats.</p>
<p>what a shame.</p>
<p>they look at each other.<br/>mind downs another bottle.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. cigarette ahegao</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>freemind is unknowable. and unapproachable. and all of the other hundreds of uns people add to words. meaningless words. to freemind, at least.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yep hi guys its me with freemind angst drabbles again aha,,,<br/>song is cigarette ahegao by penelope scott<br/>CW mention of alcohol, brief mentions of blood, vomit, anything you'd expect from freemind</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>no need to cry about it.</em>
</p><p>freemind is unknowable. and unapproachable. and all of the other hundreds of uns people add to words. meaningless words. to freemind, at least.</p><p>he doesn't need love. he needs to be left alone.</p><p>and whenever someone gets too close, he scratches them in the face, leaving scars.<br/>
it's just what he does.<br/>
it's just who he is.<br/>
a scared monster in the corner of a cave. afraid of a touch, afraid of a smile.<br/>
afraid of sunlight shining through.</p><p>maybe he dreams of going outside someday, feeling the warmth his old destroyed cave could never provide.<br/>
but when he wakes up he only feels cold.</p><p>he does always feel cold.<br/>
he seems like the fire, burning and hating. destroying and killing. rising high and swallowing everything in its way.<br/>
but he's cold.<br/>
freezing.</p><p>his face is always burning with anger, red heart beating faster.<br/>
but his fingers are cold.<br/>
and so are his dull eyes.</p><p>
  <em>always crying and always drunk.</em>
</p><p>he drowns his coldness in beer. he bottles up his broken shards of hope and swallows them, tasting blood.<br/>
he doesn't care.</p><p>and he throws them up right back out into some old dirty trashcan on the sidewalk. ironic, isn't it?<br/>
that's where they belong.</p><p>and he wishes he could feel sad.<br/>
but he feels nothing.</p><p>he cries tequila.<br/>
he bleeds wine.</p><p>and he pours it in a cup and drinks it, trying to keep the warm alcohol inside just for a bit longer.<br/>
so he won't feel empty.<br/>
so he won't feel cold.</p><p>all he gets is a headache.</p><p>
  <em>liquid eyeliner stuck to the door.</em>
</p><p>he tries to find warmth in other people. but they're all so cold too. their kisses and bites feel like pure ice. their touch feels piercing.<br/>
they all reach out and tear him apart.<br/>
he doesn't care.</p><p>he's wanted. he's needed.<br/>
that's all that matters.<br/>
the heat of their bodies is all that matters.</p><p>it could never be warm.<br/>
it's hot. boiling. scalding.<br/>
hurting.<br/>
but it's close enough, isn't it?</p><p>sweet smoke fills his head.</p><p>pain starts to feel comforting.<br/>
coldness starts to feel numb.</p><p>and he doesn't need warmth anymore.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. hand in unlovable hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>another bottle drops to the floor with a deafening shatter. mind stopped jumping at the sound long ago. sounds just like his dreams. it's dark and dim and it's everything he ever wanted. and he doesn't ask himself if that's true anymore.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW slight emetophobia its literally just one word right after the word "trashcans", blood and alcohol<br/>listen i'll update my frenrey fic someday SGDJJHFDS, also yes in this one there are parallels to the previous chapters bc im Like That<br/>rn all i write is pure symbolical surreal brain mush<br/>the song i wrote to is no children by the mountain goats</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>another bottle drops to the floor with a deafening shatter. mind stopped jumping at the sound long ago. sounds just like his dreams. it's dark and dim and it's everything he ever wanted. and he doesn't ask himself if that's true anymore.</p>
<p>he runs from the blinding light, hiding in his old cave. it's so easy to do. one step, two and a road he knows by heart. road paved with broken bottles, bloodied noses and trashcans in which he throws up the last of his heart pieces.</p>
<p>no one goes after him. no one turns around when he walks by because he is nothing but a silhouette, flowing through people, leaving a cold feeling in their chests.</p>
<p>dark liquid pours into a glass. is it whiskey? is it blood? his vision is too blurry. mind doesn't know. doesn't care. doesn't give a fuck.<br/>
ink drips from his eyes. people call it tears, but its nothing but ink. it stains everything he touches. touches and laughs. it burns.</p>
<p>eyes don't watch him. he wishes they would, but they don't. he is sitting there, bottle hanging from his hand, and no one looks.<br/>
no one goes after him. no one follows.</p>
<p>a hand takes the glass out of his hand with a smile and drops it onto the floor. it rings through the room, through mind, through whatever he looks upon. whatever he looks upon doesn't look back.</p>
<p>the hand grabs him by the jaw, harsh and painful, but he wouldn't have it any other way. any other way it would force him into a bitter kiss he wouldn't take. it's dizzying and there are only eels in his stomach. mind returns the kiss, tasting ash and rotten alcohol and crooked smoke.<br/>
he tastes blood, but that's what he always wanted. and he doesn't ask himself if that's what he really wants anymore.</p>
<p>he doesn't want. he needs. craves.<br/>
and he takes.</p>
<p>the hand pushes his face away, rough and comforting, with a giggle, and mind lands on the hard concrete, looking at the dull gray ceiling.<br/>
he traces the cracks with his finger and they're similar to his own. mind barks out a morbid laugh.</p>
<p>and he closes his eyes, in his little old cave, afraid of a touch, of light, of warm eyes and warmer hands. claw and bite and scream until your throat becomes hoarse and mouth fills with blood.<br/>
no one goes after him. no one looks. no one listens.</p>
<p>it's everything he ever wanted.<br/>
everything he ever needed.</p>
<p>another cap comes off a bottle with a clean cut to his lips.<br/>
they lie and he knows it's the truth.</p>
<p>he goes out the door.<br/>
follows the same dirty road.</p>
<p>its dark, and dim, and everything he ever had.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>he hopes it never ends.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>